


Soft edges and encouraging smiles

by ToxicPineapple



Category: New Dangan Ronpa V3: Everyone's New Semester of Killing
Genre: Angst, Canonical Character Death, Character Study, Introspection, It's the hangar scene, M/M, New Dangan Ronpa V3 Spoilers, You can hardly be surprised, injuries
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-01
Updated: 2020-04-01
Packaged: 2021-02-28 19:01:20
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,312
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23432077
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ToxicPineapple/pseuds/ToxicPineapple
Summary: “Hey, Momota-chan,” he fought to keep his voice level, an act that had been so much easier before, when he wasn’t fighting off the pain of two arrows lodged in his back. “You might wanna hurry, or your girlfriend’s gonna get executed no matter what you agreed to.”Momota grunted. “She’s not my girlfriend,” he uttered. Ouma suppressed a laugh. As if that mattered, now! But when Momota tossed the antidote to the side (he’d have to be more careful with it, if he didn’t want it to be found) and moved over to him, he was still just as warm and steady as he’d always been. A remarkable thing for someone dying from a disease.Maybe that was less a dying-person thing and more a Momota thing, though. Momota had always been very warm.---Ouma has some time for some final contemplation, right before the end.
Relationships: Momota Kaito/Oma Kokichi
Comments: 18
Kudos: 56





	Soft edges and encouraging smiles

In the flickering light of the exisal hangar, Momota’s skin looked almost blue. Ouma watched him downing the antidote, his head tipped back, for as long as he dared; and then he tore his gaze away, focusing it on the far wall. He’d had plenty of time to ogle during the game.

And it wasn’t… really fair. Ouma shifted his weight from where he was sitting on the bathroom tiles, hissing slightly at the pain that shot through his back at the movement. He’d rather have Saihara sitting there with him, his grey-gold eyes narrowed with thought. That had been the plan up until very recently, to crush Momota’s spirits and then take Saihara in here with him instead. But Saihara was a bit too… hardy, for that.

(It was fine, anyway. Saihara was timid but vile where Momota was all soft edges and encouraging smiles. If those smiles had ever been focused on Ouma, he… well, there wasn’t much point in being jealous. It was all going to end soon, if he had anything to say about it.)

They were both going to die. In a couple minutes for Ouma but Momota himself only had a couple hours at most. He flexed his fingers, marveling at the numb feeling in the tips of his fingers. He was dying, that’s what that sensation was. Ouma swallowed thickly and turned his gaze up to the ceiling. “Hey, Momota-chan,” he fought to keep his voice level, an act that had been so much easier before, when he wasn’t fighting off the pain of two arrows lodged in his back. “You might wanna hurry, or your girlfriend’s gonna get executed no matter what you agreed to.”

Momota grunted. “She’s not my girlfriend,” he uttered. Ouma suppressed a laugh. As if that mattered, now! But when Momota tossed the antidote to the side (he’d have to be more careful with it, if he didn’t want it to be found) and moved over to him, he was still just as warm and steady as he’d always been. A remarkable thing for someone dying from a disease.

Maybe that was less a dying-person thing and more a Momota thing, though. Momota had always been very warm. Ouma winced when he braced an arm underneath his shoulders, tugging him up to his feet. “Watch it, buddy,” he snapped. Momota raised his eyebrows, and Ouma thought,  _ yeah, fair enough.  _ He was in a lot of pain, but the fact that Momota was even helping a guy like him…

“Hey,” Momota spoke up, disrupting his train of thought. Ouma prepared to berate him for it, but the low rumble of Momota’s voice continued on regardless of the open state of Ouma’s mouth. “Want me to get those arrows out of your back?”

“Pssh, and what’ll be the point of that?” Ouma tilted his head to the side. “I’m gonna die anyway. If anything taking out the arrows’ll just make me bleed more, y’know, y’know?”

For some reason, Momota looked away at this, his brow furrowing. He was really very broody. Ouma thought that he’d make an excellent love interest in a teen romance movie. The girls would go crazy over him. “Yeah,” he agreed, but Ouma noted to himself that he sounded awfully begrudging. As Momota began to (essentially carry) him out of the bathroom, Ouma fought to keep his head upright. It would… probably be a very ridiculous thing, if he was to rest his head on Momota’s shoulder right now. That was never  _ his  _ shoulder to rest on.

But Momota was just one of those people who Ouma would  _ never  _ be blessed with the opportunity to be associated with. He gravitated towards those with good hearts. Saihara. Harukawa. Akamatsu. Ouma wasn’t so pig-headed to say that he was a supreme villain (he might’ve insisted as much under different circumstances but a little honest never hurt so close to death) but he felt often that his heart was rotten and black to the core. People like Akamatsu and Momota, they couldn’t be around him for all that long because he would likely corrupt their goodness. And it wouldn’t be fair for such  _ goodness  _ to be corrupted in such a way.

Even in another life, another universe, Ouma figured that he would never be good enough to be around Momota, not until the very end. And this was hardly some kind of coffee date.

(The thought of it made him smile; of sitting at a small, round table amidst the sound of chatter and the scent of coffee, Momota seated across from him and exclaiming in horror at the level of sweetness of his choice of beverage… yeah, a thing of fantasy for sure, but Ouma always did that, surrounded himself by lies and illusions and never let himself see the reality. Well, he saw the reality here, at least. Tiny victories. Ouma closed his eyes. He really missed Gonta.)

“What’re you smiling about?” Momota grunted, and Ouma jolted in his grip. They had stopped just before the stairs-- a prospect that Ouma was  _ not  _ looking forward to, but whatever-- and Momota’s grip around him was tight, almost protective. Ouma blamed it on the fact that he was dying.

“Mmm. Just the thought of romancing my beloved Momota-chan!” Ouma punctuated his sentence by bursting into a fit of coughing. It was the truth, of course, but Momota’s expression was pinched in concern, not annoyance.

“Jeez,” he uttered. Ouma felt himself being maneuvered, shifted around, and then lowered down onto the step. He hardly got a moment to ask what it was that Momota was planning before he felt an arm bracing his legs, cradling him behind his back, and lifting him into the air. The sensation of being weightless overwhelmed him for a fraction of a second-- and then he remembered that it was  _ Momota  _ who was lifting him,  _ Momota  _ who was taking him up the stairs, and--

“Kaito, what the fuck,” Ouma deadpanned. “This isn’t in the script.”

“Bro, are you serious?” Momota nearly tripped upon getting up to the top step, jolting Ouma (rude!) and almost dropping him. “We’re going to have to redo this take!”

“Yeah, yeah, yeah, yeah yeah,” Ouma slipped out from Momota’s arms, brushing himself off and casting a look of disgust in Momota’s direction. “Ewww, I have Momota’s yucky cologne all over me now,” he complained. “You weren’t supposed to  _ carry  _ me, dumbass!”

“It’s called improv!” Momota retorted, pinching the bridge of his nose. “And you just broke character! This is the third time you’ve made us start over!”

  
“Then maybe our dummy director can get things in multiple shots,” Ouma suggested flatly, casting a pointed look over to the camera, where their director stood.

“Ouma-san,” Makoto pinched the bridge of his nose. “Can you please take this seriously?”

“I’m not a rag doll,” Ouma sniffed.

“You’re injured in this scene, it makes sense that I’d carry you up the stairs!” Momota groaned. “It kills the romance if you keep cutting the scene short!”

“Well, maybe I don’t wanna do romance with  _ Momota-chan,”  _ Ouma hissed out. “I miss my wife, Tails.”

“You can see your boyfriend after we’re done with this scene,” Makoto called out. “I’m sure Saihara-san will be happy to indulge you knowing you’ve done such a good job filming.”

Ouma pouted. He couldn’t really argue with that. After a moment of contemplation, he nodded. “Okay! Fine. But no touchy touchy,” he pointed at Momota. “No more than required.”

“Whatever,” Momota huffed, rolling his eyes. “I’m ready to get this over with, man. I wanna go home and watch the new  _ Star Trek  _ episodes.”

_ “Doctor Who  _ is better!” Ouma sang, brushing past Momota and dancing down the stairs. Exasperated, the camera crew (as well as Momota) followed behind him, getting ready to run the scene for the fourth (and hopefully final) time.

**Author's Note:**

> happy april fool's day :)
> 
> [IM SO SORRY TO ANY ACTUAL OUMOTA FANS WHO CLICKED ON THIS LOOKING FOR A GOOD FIC]
> 
> writing this pained me


End file.
